DeConstructed Life
by Squeeka Cuomo
Summary: “Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.” – Charlotte Bronte
1. Constructed Life

**Constructed Life**

The day that he turned six-years-old, James Evan Wilson decided that he wanted to be a doctor. More specifically, the young boy had decided that he wanted to be an oncologist.

It was all his brother's fault. He didn't care how many ugly faces Robert shot at him behind his mother's back or how many names he called him; it was all Robert's fault.

A gorgeously sunny day, the two youngest Wilson boys had sprinted into their backyard towards the tree house their father had built for them. It was nothing fancy, but for the three brothers, it was a fort, a castle, and a place to hide from their parents all at once. To them, it was perfection, the likes of which no store-bought toy could ever be.

Giggling as they playfully pushed each other out of the way, James, though smaller than Robert, managed to push himself up the plank ladder first for a change. The ladder wasn't a ladder in the traditional sense; it was just a few boards, just thick enough to provide a step, nailed to the tree trunk. Laughing as he pulled himself into the small fort, the little boy climbed to his feet inside and pulled back the small blue curtains that their mother had sewn for the windows.

The youngest of the three boys, James followed his older brothers around, never caring to play with any of the other neighborhood children. However, the oldest brother Charlie had turned fifteen earlier in the year. Ever so slowly he was slipping away from the comfort of brotherly camaraderie and into the world of "guy friends" and spin the bottle. And so, seven-year-old Robert and the newly six-year-old James had come to accept that their little threesome would be no more.

Scrambling into their castle, Robert's face split into a wide grin as he spotted his favorite soccer ball amid the piles of comic books, pillows, and candy bar wrappers. The moment that his little feet hit the wooden floor, the older boy had darted towards the beloved black and white ball. James, however, had gotten to it first and was attempting to keep it away from him.

"Give it back, Jimmy! It's mine!" Chasing his younger brother around the tiny tree house, Robert managed to reach out and grab a hold of the ball that was gripped firmly between Jimmy's tiny hands. Resting on the top and bottom of the toy, Robert gripped the leather attempting to pry it from the fingers attempting to claim it.

Pulling the ball up and down, the older boy decided to try swinging it from side to side in an effort to free it from his pesky little brother. Whipping it back and forth with all the strength that his little arms could muster, he didn't notice that he was swinging the smaller boy closer and closer to the opening of their beloved fort.

Squeezing his brown eyes shut preparing for one last bid to free his soccer ball; the older boy didn't see the look of shock that came over James's face as the ball slipped from his tiny fingers. He also didn't see the fear in his brother's eyes as he stepped over the edge of the tree house door. With the ball clutched possessively to his chest, Robert kept his eyes closed, relishing the victory over his little brother. It wasn't until he heard a sickening thud from below and his brother's sobbing that his bright brown eyes snapped open.

Slipping unconsciously from his fingers, the ball rolled, forgotten, across the floor. Robert ran to the small opening that was the tree house door and stared down in horror as little Jimmy sat on the ground, his body retching as he cried. Standing among the branches of an oak, he couldn't tell how badly his brother was hurt but his sobbing caused his heart to pound in fear.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, frozen with terror, but the next thing he knew, their mother was running across the back yard and dropping to her knees before her youngest boy. As she began to pet James' hair and searching frantically for cuts and bruises, Robert ran down the makeshift latter and over to where his mother was gasping over the swelling bump on her baby's head. "Mom…"

Wrapping her arms around the trembling boy, Mrs. Wilson scooped her youngest into her arms as she turned to the middle child. Just like his, her eyes were bright brown, the color of milk chocolate, but now the normally warm gaze held traces of fear and anger that scared Robert. "What happened?"

Unconscious of the sounds of an ambulance tearing through the peaceful afternoon air, the middle child felt his mouth go dry as he tried to tell his mother had happened.

"H- … he… he fell." He stared at Jimmy as the words tripped over themselves as they fell from his trembling lips. "It… it was an accident." Fighting back the tears threatening to fall, Robert knew that it had been. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fight back the feelings of guilt that were gnawing at his insides.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing over his mother and brother stammering about his innocence. It was until he felt his father's powerful arms scoop him up and move him out of the way to make room for the paramedics that he realized how long he'd been observing the scene.

Standing in the hospital foyer, the little boy wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten there. Looking back, he could remember the two men in their heavy black jackets looking over James as he cried softly on their mother's shoulder and being ushered into the family car. Other than that, everything seemed to be a blur of worry and flashing red lights.

Talking to the family doctor with the diagnosis of a goose egg sized bump and a few bruises, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson didn't notice that their youngest son had been captivated by another doctor.

Like any young child, James was easily distracted by anything and everything around him. The patients in the waiting room, with their various ailments, had proved entertaining for a while. However, there was one person that captivated him in a way that no broken bone or bloody nose could.

Dressed in a white doctor's coat, the man stood smiling down a bald girl around his age as he hugged her. Despite the fact that there was obviously something wrong with her, she seemed… happy, content. Though he knew he shouldn't, James snuck away from his parents just as the girl and her parents were leaving.

Before the girl passed through the shining rotating door, she turned back to the man in white one last time and waved a tiny hand as she beamed at him. For some reason, James found himself wanting that wave even though he didn't know what it meant.

Pushing his way through sick people and their frantic family members, Jimmy kept his eyes glued to the doctor. Despite the fact that the girl and her parents had disappeared into the parking lot, his wizened face still held traces of the smile deep within the creases that lined his mouth and eyes.

Stepping around a man in a wheel chair and politely pushing past two women, he finally found himself standing next to the smiling doctor. He didn't say hello or excuse himself; instead, little Jimmy Wilson tugged gently on the man's white jacket. It was something that his parents told him not to do, and when he did, it was always to ask a very important question.

Slightly startled the doctor looked down and smiled slightly as his eyes found the small boy with floppy brown hair and chocolaty eyes staring up at him. He'd opened his mouth to speak, but the child beat him to it.

Releasing the white material and stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, James let his curiosity bubble over as he surveyed the man with his warm eyes. "Why was that little girl hugging you?"

Lowering himself so that he was eye level with James, the doctor smiled slightly as he took in the bright greet bandages that peeked around the edges of Jimmy's elbows. "Well, she was sick and needed my help."

Biting down on his lower lip, the youngest Wilson thought about what the man had said. "She needed you? Why?"

"Because she had cancer. If I hadn't helped her she would have died." The doctor watched as the little boy processed the information, his little mouth forming a silent "oh" and his eyes shining as if he were realizing a great truth in life.

Wiggling his fingers as much as possible in the confines of his pocket, James started back at the doctor. Tilting his head slightly to the side, the little boy noticed a plastic pouch containing three pens and a yellow pencil in the man's pocket.

"What kind of doctor are you?"

"I'm an oncologist. That means I treat people with cancer." Though the muscles in his thighs were starting to ache and scream out in protest, the oncologist stayed crouched down by the little boy.

"An oncowlogist?" The word slipped over his lips sounding as if he were trying it on for size, wondering if it fit him somehow.

Chuckling to himself the doctor pulled a red lollipop out the plastic case in his pocket before patting James on the shoulder. "Close. An On-col-o-gist."

Before either had a chance to respond a woman's frantic voice cut through the waiting room chatter. "James Evan Wilson, where are you?"

The moment that he heard his full name echo through the crowded room, Jimmy knew that he was in trouble. Not bothering to thank the doctor or say good-bye, he turned from the man and ran off. Not bothering to excuse himself, he pushed his way through patients and almost knocked over a teenager on crutches as he made his way back to his parents.

Lying in bed later that night, James looked through the window at the full moon shining down overhead. As the stars twinkled in the twilight, the little boy ran a tentative hand over the goose egg sized lump on the back of his head. Despite the trip to the hospital, he'd had a pretty good birthday complete with chocolate cake and a new bike.

Thinking back on the oncologist, as a soft layer of clouds floated past the winking moon, the youngest Wilson decided that that was wanted to do when he grew up. He wanted to be a doctor that helped people who needed him. Not bothering to roll away from the gentle moonlight, James called out into the darkness. "Bobby… Hey, you awake?"

Comfortable in the loving arms of sleep, Robert woke just enough to hear his brother calling him. "I am now, Jimmy. Whadyawant?"

"I just wanted to tell you that when I grow up, I wanna be a doctor." Even as the words were spilling out his mouth, James could see his future unfolding before his eyes. First off, and most importantly, he would be a famous oncologist with lots of patients who needed him. His best friend and brother, Robert, would be the best man at his wedding to the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Mr. And Mrs. Wilson would be as happy, if not happier than, his own parents, and they would have three kids (all boys) and a dog.

Slipping into the gentle arms of sleep, James didn't notice his brother murmuring sleepily in the background. All that mattered was that he was going to be a doctor and that people were going to need him.

**Cillian Chase's Chart**

- Originally written for the lj community "fraternizing" (Prompt: "Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation." – Charlotte Bronte) and the lj community "alphabetasoup" (O is for Optimistic).

- Oh Katie, thank you so much for all of your help. Really, thank you so much. :duck:


	2. Does Not

**Does Not**

Despite the fact that he was standing next to a bench, James Wilson pressed his weight into the wall behind him. Relishing the feel of the molding cutting into the rough cotton of his scrubs, he traced the patterns in the grey carpet with his eyes. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, the intern inhaled, his mind on the breath that was traveling through his lungs. Focusing on the sensation, he forced his ribs to expand until they ached before forcing the breath back out through his nose.

Refusing to open his eyes, Jimmy began to rub at the back of his neck. It was something that he'd seen his father do countless times, and it was one of many traits the Wilson boys had inherited from their parents.

James always found it amazing that even if he were standing in a room full of strangers blindfolded, he would still be able to tell when Robert was near him. The man always seemed to bring a feeling of home that ambushed senses and pushed them into nostalgic overload. From the wafting smell of their mother's preferred detergent to the warmth of his body, Bobby always managed to remind James of their childhood. Standing in the sterile corridor, James didn't need to open his eyes to know that his brother was next to him.

Staring into the inky darkness of his closed eyelids, the young man couldn't help but see the terror in her eyes and hear the last gasp of life that slipped from her chapped lips.

Smiling bitterly to himself, the young man slowly opened his eyes and was met with a mirror reflection of his own. Robert had taken the seat next to where he was standing and was staring up at him, waiting. Just… waiting.

"I know that look."

"One of my patients died today." The words came out with a bitter chuckle, sounding painful and forced. The hand that had been massaging his neck moved away from the tense muscles. He slipped from one of his father's favorite actions to his mother's as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. "She died and… there was nothing I could do."

The look of expectation in the older Wilson's eyes slipped away and was replaced by a dark shade of understanding. They both knew the day would come sooner of later whether James liked it or not. He was a doctor, and death came with the job.

They'd discussed it countless times, and every time Jimmy had said he could handle it. Deep down however, Robert knew that when it finally did happen, it would hit his younger brother hard. For years he'd been telling his baby brother that he wasn't Superman, and sadly the day had finally come when he would have to admit it to himself. "James, you knew that thi-"

"I don't know if I can do this, Robert." Looking down at his brother, he could feel the thing he'd been fighting since the child's monitor had slipped from a steady beeping to one flat, toneless sound. The telltale ache of childhood that always meant tears were on the way began to tear at the back his throat, threatening to over power him. In an effort to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks, James gritted his teeth and squeezed the bridge of his nose even more tightly than before.

Pushing himself to his full height, Robert reached out one strong hand and placed it gently between his brother's slumped shoulders. "Jimmy, you were born to do this. Remember when you first told me that you were going to be a doctor? I believed you. I knew that you would see that dream through and that you'd be amazing." With his hand still placed firmly upon his baby brother's back, the older Wilson felt his brother's shoulders begin to shake as James slumped forward even more. "You can do this. I know you can."

The tear that finally managed to escape slipped softly over James's cheek, burning a salty path in the soft skin. He didn't stand up straighter or look at his brother as the betrayal of his emotions kissed the curve of his chin. "How?"

Pressing his palm into the trembling muscles, Robert leaned against the wall next to his brother. The middle Wilson lowered his voice much like their mother did when she was soothing one of her boys. "It won't be easy, but you will. You'll dwell on this for weeks, picking it apart until you discover all the answers. When you're done, you'll know what to say to people in their time of dying."

The feeling of helplessness that had invaded his veins like a slow-acting poison continued to flood his senses, numbing his fingertips and heart. While his brother's words washed over him, James watched as the crystalline tear slipped from his chin and fell, splashing gently on the light blue material of his pants.

"That may seem kind of sick, but I promise, it's a gift. It's one you've always had." Searching his brother's profile Robert wasn't surprised when James's head snapped up, his disappointed eyes searching his own for an explanation. Sighing gently, Robert refused to pull his hand away despite the fact that his brother's shoulders were taut with anger. "James, you've always known what to say. No matter what, you always seem to have some sort of answer. Or some words of wisdom. Trust me."

Looking into his older brother eyes, James Wilson knew that he was right. As sad as it was to think that his gift in life would be to ease his patients into their deaths, he knew that he would be able too. After all, he wanted to help the people that needed him even if that need became nothing more than a few gentle words before passing on.

The look of resignation that slowly seeped into the soft brown irises of James's eyes broke Robert's heart. He knew that this was his brother's calling, but that didn't stop him from wanting to shield him from the death that was sure to pervade his future. Pulling back his hand, the middle Wilson adjusted the collar of the future doctor's scrubs. "So, you going to buy me lunch or what?"

**Cillian Chase's Chart**

- Originally written for the lj community "fraternizing" (Prompt: "Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation." – Charlotte Bronte).

- Also written for the lj community "alphabetasoup" (D is for Disappointed).

- As always, thank you Quack. If it weren't for your wonderful beta-ing, I probably would not be writing fan fic.


	3. Cannot

**Cannot**

"Have you come to tell me that I'm dying, James?"

Hanging in the air, the question seemed to surround the two brothers, engulfing them in its toxicity. To the younger man, it almost felt like an insult as the memory of a conversation held in a hospital corridor long ago came to mind. On that day, Robert had told James that he would become an expert at telling people they were going to die. In the time since, he never once thought that he'd have to use that particular "gift" with his brother.

"No."

"But I do have cancer, right?" His voice was straightforward, matter-of-fact and while he tried to keep it that way, he could keep the sadness from seeping into his voice. "Don't try to deny it James, I know the look."

They had met on the street corner in a bad neighborhood. He didn't exactly like the buildings with their graffiti or cracking sidewalk, but it had seemed appropriate. Standing amid the decrepit cars and the broken glass on the ground, James looked out of place. For some reason, Robert found that comforting. It seemed to echo how he'd been feeling in his own body the past few months.

Sitting on the narrow ledge in front of the wrought iron fence, Robert looked up into his baby brother's brown eyes. Filled with sadness and confirmation, Jimmy's gaze told him what he'd already known. You don't have a brother who is an oncologist and not recognize the signs yourself. Sighing bitterly he waited for the younger man to speak the words that would seal his fate.

"It's treatable, Robert… We caught it early." Falling in a soft drizzle, the cool rain was beginning to seep into the fibers of James's coat sending a chill down his spine. However, the oncologist couldn't help but think that the chill had more to do with his brother's condition than the weather.

"Jimmy, no. I don't have the money, and neither do you."

"Ask mom and dad. I'm sure that they could help. They're your parents after all."

Cringing at the desperation in his brother's voice, Robert shook his head with defiant finality. "No. They paid for Charlie's wedding and honeymoon. They're still helping you pay off student loans. They're old. They need what money they have." "I'm not asking them…" He thought that he'd finally covered every base but the hopeful look in his baby brother's eyes told him other wise. "And neither are you." There was no way Robert George Wilson was going to ask his elderly parents to pay for his cancer treatment. He'd rather die. And the sad fact was that he probably would.

The drizzle that had soaked through his woolen coat had slowly turned into a steady rain. Huddling under the corner lamppost, Dr. Wilson pulled his jacket more tightly around his body. It was as much a defensive move as it was an attempt to keep out the rain.

"I can't let you do this to yourself, Robert." The urgency that he could hear invading his own normally calm voice bothered James. It was a sign that he was losing the fight. Pushing his hands deep into the large pockets of his coat, he scanned the face of the man before him.

Not only was Robert his older brother, but he was also his best friend. They had spent their childhood summers playing in their tree house, and one day, he hoped they would stand as best man for one another. "Just let me try-"

"No."

"Robert let me-"

"No." Almost pleading, Robert's tone cut at James's soul like a knife.

Twilight was beginning to fall, and the fading light consumed Robert Wilson's face into dark shadows, making him look older than James had ever seen him before. The sight was a heartbreaking vision of what the disease would do to the man. Unable to stand the thought that was Robert's future, James's eyes fell to his feet. "Please. Just let me try."

Standing in the cool evening rain, what remained of the three Wilson boys began to break apart. Charlie had gone his separate way when he became a teenager, but Robert and James had always remained close. Everyone who knew the two knew that there was little that could come between them.

The street lamp that was pressing into James's spine flickered to life illuminating the two men in a pool of pale light. The rain was beginning to soak into the oncologist's hair, plastering it to the nape of his neck. Robert also looked a little worse for wear, but the youngest Wilson couldn't be sure if that was because of the rain or the cancer.

"I already told you no. Now let it go."

"You're committing suicide, and you want me to let it go?" Pulling his left hand from the depths of his pocket James reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose pressing his eyes tightly shut for a moment in an effort to calm himself. Dropping the hand to his side, James looked at his brother, desperate to make the man understand. "I can't do that Robert. I refuse to stand around and watch you die when you don't have to." The words had rushed out in a fit of anger and exasperation. As soon as he saw the look on Robert's face, he wished he could take them back. "Bobby, I-"

"If you don't want to 'stand around and watch me die', leave. Just don't tell mom and dad. I don't want-"

"Wha- What? What are you talking about? You're sick. You don't have any money. How will you-"

"Just leave, Jimmy." As the words fell to the ground with the rain, Robert George Wilson refused to meet his baby brother's eyes for what he knew would probably be the last time in their lives.

It wasn't that he wanted to die, but Robert just couldn't bring himself to take money from his parents or brother. He wasn't married, and he'd just lost his job. For the past few months he'd been relying on the generosity of his friends and family, and while he appreciated it, more than he could say, he just couldn't take it anymore. Depending on everyone had left him feeling like a child, like his manhood had been unceremoniously stripped away. He may not have been able to live like a man, but he could certainly die like one.

It was ridiculous masculine pride, but it was all he had.

"Bobby…" When his older brother didn't respond, didn't even look up, James knew that it was over. He'd lost the fight and… his brother. Shoving his hands more deeply into his pockets, the youngest Wilson wanted to cross the distance that separated him from his brother and grab his shoulders in an embrace. He also longed to cross that same distance and punch the stubborn man before him. But with Robert still refusing to look up, James knew that both were out of the question, and that there was nothing else he could do but leave.

Pushing away from the lamppost, James Evan Wilson looked at his brother one last time before walking reluctantly into the night.

**Squeeka Cuomo's Chart**

- Originally written for lj user"fraternizing" (Prompt: "Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation." – Charlotte Bronte)

- Also written for the lj community "alphabetasoup" (B is for Bitter).

- This is based on the last scene of "Histories" and the quote "I don't even know if he's still alive.".

- Katie, you are an amazing goddess of a beta. I wouldn't want any other beta than you. If it weren't for you, I probably would not be finishing this fic. Thank you. :duck:


	4. Will Not

**Will Not **

The dining room table looked as though a wedding supply store had exploded on it. Every last inch seemed to be covered with something related to someone's impending nuptials. There were catering menus from various restaurants boasting their sumptuous leg of lamb or their succulent stuffed mushroom caps. There were little heart-shaped boxes with candy in them and bottles of bubbles among an array of other wedding favor samples. To top it all off, the entire spread seemed to be covered in a layer of lavender tulle rose petals.

Sitting with a huge chart covered in little sticky labels in front of her, the soon-to-be Mrs. Bonnie Wilson held two post-it-notes, one in each hand. Was it safe to seat her fiancé's best friend next to her niece? Or would she pay for it later? She could always put him next to her pompous Auntie Muriel, but that was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Seating House next to her cousin, "the artist," guaranteed tears from the overly emotional young boy. Any other time she would have paid to see that, but not on her wedding day.

She'd been debating over where to seat the man for an hour, and no matter what she tried, nothing seemed to work.

Truth be told, if she had had her way, Gregory House wouldn't have been invited at all.

He was rude, arrogant, and inconsiderate. He was also a lot of other things that the woman wasn't comfortable saying. But even if she wouldn't say them, House still was _them _.

Bonnie didn't understand the friendship between James and House. She had tried. Really, she had. The relationship was a disgusting mixture of sadism and masochism that sickened her whenever she thought about it. Unfortunately, it seemed to work for them. It was heartbreaking, but for some reason, her fiancée needed the other man's friendship.

She may have accepted it, but that didn't mean that she had to like it.

"Whoa ho… It looks like a wedding store threw up in here."

"James, it's looked like this for the past two weeks." Her response had been absent minded, the two nametags clutched between her fingers still weighing heavily on her mind.

"I know. It just seem like…" Pausing, James looked over the table taking in the tulle rose petals and sample wedding favors with a sense of amusement and bewilderment that seeped into his voice.. "There's more. I guess I just never realized how much went into planning a wedding."

Placing his hands on the back of Bonnie's chair, James began to look over the seating chart in front of his bride-to-be. All of their friends and family seemed to be seated according to who was least likely to kill who. Scanning over the elaborate chart he noticed that his parents were seated together and the same table as Bonnie's. The man also noticed that certain cousins were seated at opposite ends of the rooms (for good reason). As his brown eyes poured over the chart, the groom to be noticed something. There was one very important name missing.

The absence of a tiny yellow post-it bearing the name "Gregory House" bothered James, but it didn't surprise him. He knew that his fiancée and best friend didn't get along. He'd given up hoping that they would long ago. So long as the two were kept at least ten feet apart, things were usually fine.

It was this knowledge that made James nervous about what he knew he could no longer put off saying. He'd been working up to this moment for a week now. No matter how he phrased it in his head, nothing seemed right.

With her focus torn between the man behind her and the chart before her, Bonnie brought up the topic that had been causing James so much pain and worry. "So, have you decided on a best man yet?" The question was asked absentmindedly, as if she were asking the man whether it was raining or not. "We really need to get the tuxedos ordered."

Still gripping the back of her chair, James knew that this was his chance, probably his only chance. But he just couldn't force out the words.

The silence had finally pulled the woman from her thoughts of seating charts and impending fights. Turning around for the first time, the brunette caught the look of worry in her fiancé's eyes. "James?"

"I… want House to be my best man." He had tried to keep his tone matter of fact. He had tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. But as the words fell from his lips, he saw Bonnie's eyes harden, James knew he'd failed. "Before you say anything, he's my best friend. He's my…" Though it pained him to admit it, it was the truth, and they both knew it. "Only friend."

The post-its still stuck to her polished fingers, Bonnie didn't say 'no way' or 'over my dead bridal body will that man stand on the altar at my wedding'. Instead, she placed her hand over his, feeling the muscles in his fingers tighten as they clenched the chair even more tightly. When she spoke, the woman sounded as if she were trying to convince a small child that they wanted an apple instead of a lollipop. "What about your brother-"

Looking into the woman's eyes, James didn't think about how beautiful she was or how lucky he was. Instead, he thought about his brother sitting on a street corner, giving himself over to cancer because of foolish pride. Up till that night, he'd always thought Robert would have stood on the altar with him. He would be marrying the perfect woman, and they would live happily ever after.

But now, he was on his second marriage, and for all he knew, Robert was still sitting on that corner with the cancer eating away at his body.

"Charlie. I mean… Don't men usually ask their brothers to be their best men?"

James had never told Bonnie about Robert. Not just about his disease and their spilt but about him at all. Once he'd walked away from his brother for the last time, part of the youngest Wilson had died. He'd driven away from the run down neighborhood heartbroken and brother-less.

Unable to face his parents that night; he'd driven until the rising sun began to burn his tired eyes. When he did finally face their parents, he'd lied, said that Robert needed time alone. Needed time to get his life in order. Driving away from his childhood home, the home he'd shared with Robert, James locked Robert away in his heart and his mind. His brother was gone and that part of his life was dead.

It wasn't until he'd met House that that part of him had stirred again, for the first time in a long time.

"I'd really rather not ask Charlie." James had closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the look he knew was sure to cross his fiancée's features. If she hadn't been holding onto his left hand, he would have used it to rub the back of his neck.

He'd always known that this conversation wasn't going to go well.

"James, I know that it's your best man, but I will not have Gregory House in my wedding. It's bad enough that he even has to come." The words were out, and Bonnie didn't even have the decency to look abashed.

Pulling his hand out from under hers, James Wilson placed both of his hands on his hips and nodded slightly. He'd always known how she felt about House, and he didn't blame her. That, however, didn't make this any easier.

"Look, honey, I don't feel like fighting about this, but the truth is, the man is awful, and you know it." Her voice should have been filled with apology but instead, her words came out as factual, as if she didn't care. "You two aren't even on a first name basis." Her attention was slowly drifting back to the sticky notes on her fingertips. It was her wedding, and she wasn't about to let Gregory House screw it up.

"Just ask Charlie. Don't you want your brother to stand up for you? I know you two have never been close, but he's still your brother." Turning back towards the table Bonnie's voice trailed off, as if she had found something more important to do.

By now, the seating chart had reclaimed her attention completely, all worries about who would be the best man at her wedding gone. In the end, it was _her _wedding and she knew that James wouldn't let her down.

He didn't bother to answer her question. The painful answer was, 'Yes, I do want my brother to be my best man. Just not Charlie.' That dream, however, was something that no one, including Bonnie, would ever know about.

When he'd made up his mind, that he wanted to ask House to be his best man, he'd known that it was ridiculous. That it would never happen. But he'd had to ask anyway.

Dropping his hands in defeat, James gave up the impossible. Not to make the woman happy but to hide his true feelings. "It's fine. I'll ask him."

The future Mrs. Wilson had already turned back to her seating chart, missing the look of defeat in her fiancé's eyes. She'd finally found a place to seat House. Next to her deaf uncle who was seated as close to the exit as possible.

**Squeeka Cuomo's Chart**

- Originally written for the lj community "fraternizing" (Prompt: "Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation." – Charlotte Bronte).

- Also written for the lj community "alphabetasoup" (Y is for Yielding).

- Katie, my beta. Thank you so much for all of your help. I'm sending someone to bake your cookies now. :duck:


	5. Failed Expectations

**Failed Expectations**

"You were either going to help me through this or you weren't. I got my answer."

As his words hung heavy in the air, Wilson didn't bother to look up. Didn't bother to search House's face for some sign of remorse. There was no point in looking for something he knew he wouldn't find. The clicking of his office door was confirmation enough that the man, who was supposed to be his best friend, had disappointed him once again.

Placing the file of a long term patient on the pile with the rest of the referrals, Wilson thought back to the night of his sixth birthday. He'd lie in bed staring at the full moon in the inky sky. Filling it with starry wishes, James had decided what he wanted in life.

He'd planned his whole life on that sky. Like any other child, he'd held onto those dreams as if his life depended on it. But unlike so many other children, he had begun working to turn his hopes into reality. He'd lived out his childhood days using those wishes as a blueprint for his future, never once thinking that the heavens had something else in store for him.

Looking up from the manila envelopes that were the end of his practice, Wilson watched the rain trickling in snaky paths down his window. Any other time, the pattering against the glass windowpane would have been soothing to the man's frazzled nerves. But not today. Today the pouring rain was just another reminder of his heartbreak and everything that was wrong with his life. Every drop that splattered against the window was just another little liquid reminder of some disappointment or other.

Hypnotized by the intertwining streams, James cursed those stars for not preparing him for what was to come. He condemned them for not protecting him from the pain and heartache that they undoubtedly knew was his future.

Life wasn't supposed to be this hard.

Tucked snugly between his cowboy sheets, he hadn't wished to be able to walk through walls or fly like other boys his age did.No, his dreams had been surprisingly grounded and… realistic.

His brother and best friend standing on the altar for him.

A beautiful wife.

Three children.

A dog.

All of his dreams had seemed simple enough. A wife and a family. Nothing more. His parents had been able to achieve his dreams. So had his brother Charlie. Closing his eyes against the rain, Wilson sighed deeply wondering why all of his dreams had come true for everyone but himself.

Pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, James chuckled bitterly as twinkling stars erupted against the infinite blackness of his eyelids.

There was one dream that had come true. He'd become a successful oncologist with lots of patients who needed him. But even that was too good to be true. Thanks to the man who was supposed to be his best friend, Wilson was being forced to shut down his practice.

He was being forced to shut down the one dream that had not been ruined by failed expectations.

Relieving the pressure on his weary eyes James placed his palms on his forehead and rested against them. At that moment, nothing felt more real or tangible than the weight of his skull pressing into his hands.

He was feeling sorry for himself, and he knew it, but he didn't care. He was tired of looking out for House or anyone else who shot him a pair of puppy dog eyes. It seemed like whenever someone needed something, they would come running to him. Wilson understood the consult requests. That was his job. However, he was sick of having to be the angel on everyone's shoulder. He wanted someone to be there for him for a change.

Robert should have been there.

Robert had always been there. Whether it was to offer a few choice words about the silliest of things or giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder, Robert had always known what to do to make everything right with the world.

Until the cancer anyway.

James had lost his brother eleven years ago, and deep down he knew that the cancer would have ravaged his body by now. If it hadn't already killed him that was.

Dropping his hands James forced himself to open his eyes. If Bobby had been there, he'd have known what to say to make his baby brother feel better. But he wasn't and so the youngest Wilson was forced to deal with all of his problems alone.

Robert _should_ have been there. Sighing deeply, Wilson remembered that that was just one of his many broken dreams.

Staring at the various patient files and manila folders, James realized that all he'd ever really wanted was to be happy and needed. They weren't out of the ordinary dreams, but for him, they seemed to be impossible.

Sealing the envelope of another long time patient, James Evan Wilson realized that he was needed. Just not by those that were supposed to make him happy.

_"Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation." _

_ – Charlotte Bronte_

**Squeeka Cuomo's Chart**

- Originally written for the lj community "fraternizing" (Prompt: "Life is so constructed that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation." – Charlotte Bronte).

- Also written for the lj community "alphabetasoup" (H is for Hurt).

- The opening quote is taken from the episode "Wac-A-Mole".

- A few months ago I outlined this whole fic on a sheet of paper. Chapter titles, moods, reference quotes. Everything. Looking at that paper right now, I'm happy to say that (De)Constructed Life is exactly what I had envisioned when I originally outlined it. Writing this last chapter I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and review. This is a story that I've written with deep love and respect for James Wilson and Robert Sean Leonard. I hope that you've enjoyed it.

- Katie, this fic really would not have been possible without you. I really and truly mean that. You've been my beta and my goddess. You've also encouraged me when I was ready to just give it up and call it a day. But most importantly, you've been my friend. Thank you so much. :duck:


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